Trust
by Predec2
Summary: Short one-shot of what could have been.  Post Ep 408 AU Fic.  Brian/Justin


"Just fucking _do_ it, Justin."

"I don't know if I can." I bit my lower lip in hesitation as I stared over at Brian sitting cross-legged from me on the bathroom floor on a large cushion that he had retrieved from the living room, memorizing every detail. Every line of his tired-looking but determined face, every curve of his full, cranberry-colored lips that I have kissed and worshipped thousands of times, every pore of his chiseled, strong face. The face that was currently uncharacteristically pale and drawn, his teeth clenched from the nauseous feeling in his stomach that came and went like unrelenting waves in an angry ocean. Brian was wearing only a pair of loose, exercise pants as he stared into my eyes. Any other time Brian wouldn't have been caught dead in such a bad-ass ugly pair of elastic-tie pants, but then again, this wasn't a typical time, either. The last thing he wanted was any sort of tight-fitting apparel.

I clenched the instrument tightly in my hands as Brian stared into my eyes, silently entreating me to carry out my unpleasant chore. But my hand felt like it was frozen with super glue to my thigh as I knelt on my knees facing him on a matching cushion, feeling the heels of my bare feet digging into the back of my thighs as my desire to obey him warred with what his request represented.

"Justin…"

I sighed, feeling the sting of tears threatening to fall from my eyes. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I braced myself on the cushion with my free hand, feeling the coldness of the granite floor seeping into my palm and matching the fear in my heart – my fear for my partner's life. For this wasn't just the day after a binge of drinking way too much Jim Beam and downing popper after popper in the haze of a stupor-filled night at Babylon. This wasn't the result of Brian working an all-nighter in hopes of landing a prestigious, multi-million dollar campaign for Kinnetik. No, this was a fight against a formidable, insidious disease that threatened to sap the very essence out of the man I loved. What he was asking me to do filled me with dread and sadness, but we both knew it was inevitable.

"Justin…"

Again, I heard Brian call my name, more firmly this time, and I blinked, my watery eyes lifting to meet his. He reached over to lightly rub his hand over the short hair on the top of my head, the sandy, darker mass that was just now starting to grow back from my ill-advised Pink Posse days. I knew it would be growing back quickly now to its lighter color, though, just like it always did, and that Brian would be waiting impatiently – waiting until the day he could once more savor one of his favorite things – softly ruffling the hair at the back of my neck as he made love to me, or twisting his fingers tightly around the crown in rapturous pleasure as I sucked him off. For I knew when he had told me my new haircut was 'hot,' he had meant it, but I _also_ knew nothing would replace the longer style that he loved to feather in the throes of passion.

He slid his hand around to cup my cheek before whispering to me, "It's okay. You have to do this. It's only temporary. Just like this fucking cancer… You'll see."

My eyes betrayed my fear as I gazed into his hazel orbs, his eyes darting rapidly back and forth sideways like they always did when he was upset or nervous. I wasn't sure at the moment, though, if he was more nervous for himself or for me as I finally nodded.

My hand felt like lead as I slowly raised it, my fingers curled around the offensive object. Brian dropped his hand lower to grasp my wrist as I felt the reassuring warmth lying there. His familiar touch steadied me for the unpleasant task I was about to perform.

I leaned over first with my free hand to lightly stroke Brian's hair, feeling several strands clinging to my fingers as I withdrew it. I couldn't help sucking in a sorrowful breath. I knew it was just hair. It didn't change the person Brian was inside, the man that I loved. But it was _Brian's_ hair, his crown of glory, his beautiful, magnificent hair, now coming out in clumps in my hand.

I pretended not to notice anything amiss, though, as I placed the hand on Brian's thigh across from me to steady myself and using the thumb of my other hand, UsignI flicked the offensive switch located on the side of the battery-charged razor as it roared to terrible life. With Brian's hand still clutching my wrist, I slowly raised the razor held between my shaking fingers and pursed my lips tightly together as I began to gently glide it over the top of his skull, hating the buzzing, horrendous sound it emitted as it efficiently did its horrible work. Brian's eyes were locked on mine, silently encouraging me to continue as I watched swatch after swatch of auburn float down to the floor like some wispy patches of angry, dark-brown clouds.

The whole task took less than two minutes, but it seemed like an eternity as finally, I clicked the razor off and dropped it onto the floor; it clattered as it hit the hard surface, making me jump slightly in reaction as I let out a mournful sigh, relieved that the job was done but unable to mask the pain my awful responsibility had incurred in my heart. It wasn't that I was grieving for what Brian had looked like before; I was grieving for what it represented: his health, his vitality, his invulnerability. As I peered into the strong, courageous eyes of my partner, however, my fears vanished, at least for that moment. Because when I looked at them, I only saw love and complete trust.


End file.
